


The wisdom of Mythal

by Bublinka



Series: Day and Night [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 10:41:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3407609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bublinka/pseuds/Bublinka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inquisitor Lavellan has prayed to Mythal since she remembers herself. The encounter with the elven goddess, even in a form of Asha'belannar, has shaken her to the core, giving her new hope and new strength to fight on.<br/>My take at Solas/Lavellan romance closure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The wisdom of Mythal

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This happens after Inquisitor returns from the Altar of Mythal.

It was the dark of the night, though the moon was at its brightest, filling the Inquisitor’s room with its pale magnificent light. Ellana Lavellan couldn’t sleep. Several days ago she thought she would never be happy again, but now the endless joy was flowing through her, the excitement depriving her of sleep and comfort of the big human bed.  
She had seen Mythal. She had seen Mythal, she had spoken to Mythal, she had knelt before Mythal, and Mythal accepted her, she had asked Mythal for help, and Mythal helped her. Oh, the joy of all joys! She had seen Mythal.  
Finally admitting that falling asleep would be no easy task to accomplish, Ellana got up and headed to her desk. There, bathing in the tenderness of the moonlight, stood the delicately carved Mythal statuette Inquisitor brought with her from home. Never leaving her eyes from her beloved goddess, Lavellan slowly went to her knees on the floor. The peace, the joy, the hope – all that Mythal had given her. With all the strength of the inspired heart, with all the joy of a loved child, Ellana began her prayer:  
“O Mythal, Elgar’nan’asha, Elmamae, El’lathan! Ma’elgar hamin, ma’mi sulevin ghilan, ma’lath enaste! Аr isala na’enansal, na’halani, na’dirth. Serannas, Hella’asha, dar na’lath uth.”  
The words she’d said since her childhood came easy to her lips. But never before did they come easy to her soul. Now, as she said the prayer starting in a barely audible whisper, her voice grew stronger with each word, her heart rejoiced, and the old elven words began singing on their own. Ellana felt the Mythal’s calming night air cooling the hot tears on her cheeks, kindly as the mother’s touch.  
“Oh, Mythal, how could I ever hope to see you,”Lavellan continued when she was able to speak again, “but I’ve always hoped to see you. How I prayed to you all my life, but they told you wouldn’t hear, you were not there, you wouldn’t help. And finally, I believed them.” The elf lamented as she dropped her head in shame, her body slugging down to rest over her feet. “I was angry, I was so angry at you! Forgive me, Mythal!” She exclaimed passionately, looking up to the goddess once again. “You came to me when my clan was destroyed, my man left me, and my enemy seemed immortal. You helped me, and you have taught me your wisdom. I now see that sorrows can lead to joy. Now I know you hear me, I know you’re there, and I fear naught. I will prevail, and my victory will be yours, Mythal.”  
The tears flooded her anew, and Ellana let herself soak into the blissful state. Slowly, her mind calmed down, her passion became quiet, and she smiled wearily, starting to wipe her moist cheeks. The skin was so unusually smooth, her vallaslin and its scars now absent. She wore Mythal’s vallaslin before, but only met her goddess once they were gone.  
“Is this why? You didn’t want to hear out a slave?” Ellana whispered, the realization curling into a sickening feeling in her gut. It made sense to her. What god would listen to his slave? Who would listen to a thing; a bow, a knife, a book?  
_‘Solas, oh, Solas. What gift had you granted me? Will I ever understand?’_ She couldn’t find her hurt and anger for him in her heart. Only love, and caring, and gratitude filled her. How much he had done for her. He saved her life from the wrath of Chantry, from the cold of Frostback Mountains, from the slavery, and who knows from what more? How could she ever feel offended?  
No, she should not. She should be thankful, and she was. Mythal had shown her that everyone had their duty and their path. Ellana herself had let her whole clan die to walk her own path. Who was she to judge others?  
Lavellan stood up, her mind, soul and heart at peace now. She let her fingers trail her smooth cheeks once more. She was free and her goddess was with her. All thanks to him. A little serene smile touched her face. She needed to thank him properly and in person. She would do it tomorrow.  
And with a light heart Inquisitor finally went to bed. She dreamt of Asha’belannar walking in the moonlit plains, smiling.  
*************  
Ellana woke up at the crack of the dawn. She felt refreshed like she hadn’t been for weeks. Cold morning air from her ever open balcony door filled her being with new hope and new strength. Inquisitor followed the familiar path to the Solas’ place, trying to concentrate on her wish to voice him her gratitude.  
It was still dark and empty in the Main hall, most of Inquisition forces still in Arbor Wilds, the ones left in Skyhold still asleep. Ellana squeezed through the door to the rotunda, as quiet as she could.  
She found Solas sitting on his couch in the dusk morning light, legs stretched, face turned upwards, eyes closed. Was he sleeping? Coming up to him, Inquisitor sat down at the couch, leaving a good two-feet space between them.  
“Are you asleep?” She asked in a whisper.  
“No.” He didn’t move.  
“Can I talk to you?” Lavellan continued in a low voice, but no longer whispering.  
Solas finally opened his eyes, turning his head to her and shifting himself to sit upright. His eyes were tired, so tired, the weariness of thousands of years boring into her sincere gaze.  
“Again?” He replied quietly, as if all his strength had left him. The accusation aroused a tempest of emotions in her. _‘Again?! Yes, again, and as many times as I want to! No, stop. That was not my intention.’_ Ellana managed to keep herself calm.  
“Will you hear me out?” She asked once more, her voice now steady and strong.  
“It never hurts to listen,” Solas replied evenly. He was looking at the ceiling again, but kept his eyes open. It obviously hurt him to even look at her.  
_‘Now he compares my talk to the demon’s temptations. Ma’elgar hamin, Mythal.’_ Why was it so difficult with him?  
“Will you hear me out or not?” She was not going to let him avoid the straight answer.  
“I will.” Solas found himself yielding to her insistence.  
“Good.” Ellana took a deep breath and focused her eyes on the opposite wall, fearing that his sad figure would drain her strength before she could finish. “I want to tell you how I always praised Mythal. When I was a little girl, I thought she was like my mother, kind and clever, caring and protecting.” Lavellan paused a bit at the unexpected sharp pang in the heart, reminding her that her mother was no longer alive. Still, she had to go on. “When I grew older, I understood that Mythal was so much more, not a mother, but an ideal, that each girl, each woman aspires to reach. When the time came for my blood writing, I did not hesitate a second. It was always Mythal.”  
Lowering her gaze to the floor, Ellana continued. “I prayed to her when they sent me to the Conclave, when I found myself in a dungeon, hands bound, when the Haven was destroyed… She didn’t answer, and I let myself get angry and fretful with her. I was no wiser than a child praying to Andruil to help him pass his shooting test instead of training, and blaming the goddess when he fails. But, then…” Lavellan lifted her head once again, and looked at Solas, her voice now filled with passion. She did notice he was now eyeing her, confusion over his features.  
“Then she came and helped me. She helped me when I needed it most. I didn’t have to drink from the vir’abelasan to know it was what really mattered.” Ellana ended triumphantly, her bright eyes glittering in the gaining daylight coming through the roof holes.  
Solas hesitated a moment, searching her face for some answers. “That is…” he began.  
“Not all. Mythal gave me wisdom, and got me thinking. Of you. Of your help. You helped me a lot, Solas. You saved me when Chantry wished me executed, you gave me Skyhold when I should have frozen to death, you freed me from the slavery I had not even known about. You helped when it mattered, Solas. I had no right to be angry at Mythal. And I have no right to be angry at you.” Lavellan eyed the other elf with all the affection she could master. All that she said was true, and he had the right to hear it.  
Solas’ eyes roamed over her face, troubled, moved by her words. He could have never expected this. After all he’d done…  
“But you have…” he objected, his voice trembling, heavy with emotions.  
Once again, Inquisitor stopped him, now raising her right hand in the air. The determination written in her features made him fall silent anew.  
“And as I thanked Mythal, I shall thank you.” Ellana proclaimed solemnly.  
To his utter shock, she stood up only to kneel before him, one knee reaching the ground, head lowered to gaze at his feet, hands clasped together.  
“Emma serannas, hahren. Ma’vir melava ghilan, ma’era melava tu su, ma tel’len melava him. Elshiral halam nadas. Ma’vunin garas, dar shem la sulevin ma bor’assan. Na’enansal tuara, hahren, na’dirthavaren enara.”  
His eyes widened at her actions, Solas stood up, as one does not receive such words sitting. He recognized the text; it was an old elven address of an apprentice finishing his apprenticehood to his master. Evidently, the Dalish used it otherwise. But for once, Solas did not care for the original meaning.  
His vision was blurred with the tears he had not known himself to be able shedding. Still, he was able to found her head, a light spot, given her fair hair. Solas put his both hands on her head, as gently as he could, his whole being swirling with intense, breathtaking sensations. One does not simply leave such an address unanswered, and he obliged with the reply.  
“Ma emma tel’len sahlin, ma emma vhen’asha. Darsulevin na’bor’assan, darthen na’elgar, daruth na’vir’vhenan. Mala tel’ma’isala. Ar tu ma revas. Ar na’ena ma’enansal. Darenaste na’hellathen.”  
Ellana listened to him, her head still down. His voice sounded so young in timbre, but so old in intonation. The melodic rhythm of his words seemed to put her in a trance, his voice filling the room, her head, and her very soul. Waves of blue light wrapped around her body, similar to those in Solas’ hands when he removed her vallaslin, but now she was bathing in them, and then everything disappeared, and she was flying, floating in the blue, love and bliss, hope and delight rushing through her.  
After what seemed an eternity to her she was returned to the rotunda, tenderly, as a parent would place a child on the ground, so he could try to walk for himself.  
Ellana rose, and faced Solas, delighted, confused and proud in equal measure.  
“What was that?” She only managed to say.  
“I gave you my blessing, as you have asked of me.” Solas replied, his voice rich with the meanings incomprehensible to her. There were no traces of the previous weariness in his regard, his expression determined and lordly, but there were also kindness and affection in the way he looked at her.  
Her gratitude flushing though her anew, Ellana made a move to bow, but Solas stopped her, putting his right hand on her left shoulder, only to release her a moment later.  
“No. You bowed enough, vhen’asha.” He declared firmly. “Never again should you bow before me”.  
They stood, so close to each other, but so distant in their post. Both looked at the other one, as if they’d seen them for the first time, yet trying to memorize the sight as if it was the last.  
Finally, Solas urged himself to break the silence.  
“You were right. You did not need the Well of Sorrows. You are already wiser than most of elvhen.” Solas acknowledged, his tone light, and his face softening.  
“I’m not wise. I only know how to love.” Ellana replied simply.  
“That you do.” He agreed. She had shown him how to love not in the selfish way, like he always did.  
Solas let his gaze roam the room, the ceiling. The day had finally come. How the sunlight suited her.  
“You told me how Mythal was your ideal.” He mused, returning his eyes to her fair face. “I must tell you, that to these people, to the Inquisition, you _are_ Mythal. Loving and caring, protecting, but just and judging. You should be proud.”  
Ellana smiled, a blush rising in her cheeks at such praise. Happiness, pure happiness was all that was left in her.  
“Solas, do you see how happy I am?” She asked with the smile still on her lips.  
He watched her for a moment.  
“I do.” And a smile at last found its way to his face, wide, and assuring, and kind.

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I hope you are now as happy as I was finishing this story.  
> Translations:  
> O Mythal, Elgar’nan’asha, Elmamae, El’lathan! Ma’elgar hamin, ma’mi sulevin ghilan, ma’lath enaste! Аr isala na’enansal , na’halani, na’dirth. Serannas, Hella’asha, dar na’lath uth. - Oh, Mythal, Elgar'nan's wife, our mother, the object [place] of our love! Put my spirit to rest, guide my blade to purpose, bless my love! I need your blessing, your help, your knowledge. I thank you, Noble Woman, may your love be eternal.
> 
> Emma serannas, hahren. Ma’vir melava ghilan, ma’era melava tu su, ma tel’len melava him. Elshiral halam nadas. Ma’vunin garas, dar shem la sulevin ma bor’assan. Na’enansal tuara, hahren, na’dirthavaren enara. - I'm grateful, elder. You guided my way, you made my dream happen, you made me no longer a child. Our journey must end. My day comes, may my bow be quick and certain. May you give me your blessing, elder, may your promise come true."
> 
> Ma emma tel’len sahlin, ma emma vhen’asha. Darsulevin na’bor’assan, darthen na’elgar, daruth na’vir’vhenan. Mala tel’ma’isala. Ar tu ma revas. Ar na’ena ma’enansal. Darenaste na’hellathen. - You are now not a child, you are now a woman of the People. Let your bow [strike] with purpose, let your spirit be alert, let your heart's way be eternal. You now do not need me. I free you. I give you my blessing. Blessed be your struggle."


End file.
